


As Virtues Go, Chastity is Overrated

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [8]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Cutting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His therapist sets her pen down and leans forward.  “In a perfect world, that might be true.  But-.”</p><p>“-we don’t live in a perfect world,” Loki finishes for her, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.  “I know, I know.”</p><p>
  <i>If only.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>At Dawn, the Birds Take Flight</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as does <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1374013/chapters/2874226">Reach</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Talking helps in mysterious ways.

“I’m having _relationship problems,_ ” Loki grumbles to his therapist. He wasn’t planning to discuss this with her – with _anyone_ , for that matter – but she’s more perceptive than she has any business being. He hadn’t been in her office two minutes before she was asking him what was wrong. And in a place like this, the last thing you want is people really sniffing around what might be making you act a little off. A little crazy.

Not that he has anything to hide just now, from a _drugs of abuse_ perspective. Still, he reserves the right to maintain his _ability_ to hide things in peak form, in the event he ever needs to make use of it again. Because one of the many things he’s learned in this lovely life he’s been leading is that you never say never. Not unless you like to look like an ass. Which he doesn’t.

“With your partner,” she asks, making a few notes on her pad.

He misses his work with Anna, at least at the end where all the basics had been long since covered and he didn’t have to answer so many inane questions… but it’s probably not fair to be a jerk about it. Even with his chart, this doctor has her own way of doing things. He should be a good client and let her keep to it. This is not the place to get his need for battle met.

“The problems you mentioned, I mean,” she goes on; Loki’s let himself drown in the depths of his own thoughts and hasn’t bothered to answer. Oops.

He snorts. “Thor would _kill_ me if I was seeing someone else. Figuratively, I mean,” he clarifies when her eyebrows pop up. “Seriously, I have enough problems dating one person. I sure as fuck don’t need a whole stable of them.” He doesn’t. What a shitshow that would be.

“Are you okay with being exclusive, though,” she asks. That’s unexpected; he has to chew on it a little. She lets him.

“I think so,” he finally tells her. “At least, I would be if we could get past the stupid shit going on right now.”

She nods. “It’s all right not to be okay with it, you know, even if your partner feels differently. He doesn’t get to make all your choices for you.”

Actually, Thor pretty much does, but Loki _especially_ doesn’t want to get into _that_ right now. Not today. Maybe not ever. He returns her nod. “I know.” It’s not even a lie, really, as long as you don’t inspect it too closely.

“Can we talk a bit about the problems you’re having,” she asks.

_Like I have a fucking choice,_ he doesn’t say, because she’ll just remind him mildly that he does indeed have one… and that will be completely unsatisfying. Yes, he still feels like starting up with someone. As candidates go, though, she’s _not_ the ideal one. He sighs. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

She taps her pen against pursed lips, eyes narrowed. “Give me a little history, Loki. It’s the first time you’ve mentioned this to me, even though your file touches on some background information that isn’t exactly kittens and roses,” she elaborates, and he smiles despite himself. “Has something changed recently?”

It’s easier somehow if he looks at his own hands, rather than at his doctor’s face. He turns the left one over and studies his palm, where the marks from last night have completely faded. “Kind of. I talked to Thor about how I probably shouldn’t be using him to hurt me anymore.” He pauses to give her a chance to jump on that, to ask if Thor reacted badly and let him off the hot seat, but she just waits quietly. When he looks up, she’s- not taking the carefully-laid bait. Shit. “He agreed, but now everything has swung too far the other direction.”

“By which you mean-,” she prompts.

He takes a deep breath and sighs again. “He’s being way too gentle and nice in bed.” He checks her face quickly; if she so much as cracks a smile he is leaving in a huff.

She doesn’t; she just makes another note. Nothing in her expression shifts at all. “Have you told him that’s not what you want, or not what you meant?”

“Yes,” he says, and then realizes he kind of hasn’t. “Sort of,” he corrects himself, probably too vaguely. When she says nothing, he slouches even further down in his chair. “I chewed into him about treating _servicing me_ like it’s one of his goddamned chores.”

“How did he react to that?”

“Well, I think he knows I’m pissed about it, but nothing has changed.”

She frowns, just a little. “Did you tell him what you’d like to see him do differently?”

Loki lets out a frustrated little noise. “If he really knew me, I wouldn’t have to.”

At that, she sets her pen down and leans forward. “In a perfect world, that might be true. But-.”

“-we don’t live in a perfect world,” he finishes for her, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “I know, I know.” If only.

~

Loki is still irritated when he gets home, despite what should have been a nice afternoon spent playing with clay. He’s not even sure _why_ he’s annoyed anymore, really, but Thor’s tense, anxious arrival does nothing to defuse it. Loki sprawls on the couch arm, one foot up on the seat and the other dangling, and scratches his chest. He probably looks belligerent. He doesn’t care.

"I talked to my therapist today," Thor starts in, after the usual pleasantries fall profoundly flat, "and he thinks- he thinks we should talk more."

_The joy._ "Oh he does, does he," Loki pushes back, because he is really not in the mood for this somehow. "And just what exactly makes him say that? Frankly, from my perspective,” he can’t resist adding when Thor looks a little hurt, “I must say you talk far more than enough already, brother."

But Thor doesn’t rise (stoop?) to the challenge. He just drops his keys on the corner with a soft plunk and steps closer. Thor looks earnest, and deeply uncomfortable, and Loki can feel his own stomach churn. "I don't want you to feel like one of my chores, Loki,” his brother explains. “I don't think of it- of you that way at-."

"Wait, what," Loki cuts in. This is not what he expected, not at all, and not what he thinks he wants either. He sits forward, stiffening, channeling anger to hide the way he’s starting to panic. "You talked to your therapist about sex? About _us_ having sex?" He probably shouldn’t be criticizing, given his own session earlier. Oh well. A good fight right now will-.

"Not exactly," Thor says instead (instead of the angry retort Loki expected), even more softly (and somehow nothing is working the way it should be). "I know I’m just not _getting_ what you're wanting these days. And I don't- it shouldn't be that way. Look, I love you,” he stresses, the words coming faster and faster. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I want to do what it takes- whatever makes you feel good. Tell me what you want. Please," he adds, plaintively, "anything."

Loki is- speechless. Literally speechless, which happens pretty close to never. His brain is paralyzed.

"Look, this is so awkward,” Thor goes on, looking as freaked as Loki feels. “Help me out, please? Meet me halfway," he pleads, reaching for Loki’s arm. "Just-... please."

Loki isn’t sure he can do this. He isn’t ready. He isn’t- _something_ , he isn’t _anything_. He shuts his eyes against the pain of it and makes himself take his brother’s hand. "I'm not delicate,” he tells Thor after a couple of deep breaths. “I don't need to be _coddled,_ not in bed." He takes another deep breath and plunges on. "I miss the way things were before you decided I was- breakable." He pulls Thor closer. "I don't want sex between us to be about- about _holding back_ ," he makes himself add, because that’s really the crux of it.

Out of nowhere, the whole uncomfortable conversation is suddenly almost funny. "And yes,” Loki assures his brother, “this is _so_ awkward." He sternly orders himself not to laugh, though, just in case he’s the only _amused_ one. It works, after a fashion.

"How about we try _doing_ instead of _talking_ , then," Thor suggests, giving him a sharp tug, one that almost unseats him. “And if you feel too coddled, you let me know."

_Well._ "You think you're up for it," Loki challenges, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. It’s bright; he has to blink. He cocks an eyebrow, to make up for it.

Thor nods, once.

Loki catches his brother off guard and pulls free. "Then prove it."

~

Just like that, he’s unceremoniously upended. "Challenge accepted," Thor tells him boldly, laughing and dodging his kicking feet.

His brother carries him into the bedroom and tosses him – really tosses, like he’s a sack of _something_ , something not the least bit fragile –on the bed. Before he can move to sit up, Thor is crawling all over him, squashing him flat and helpless against the mattress. Loki pushes and struggles and cuffs his brother ungently across the face, but Thor is too heavy to move. Ultimately, none of that matters; all this struggling is more or less all for show anyway.

Loki’s not the least bit sure what’s going on, really, but he’s positively not asking questions just now. Because this? _This_ is more like it. He reaches for his brother’s hair.

"I've had enough of these _hands_ ," Thor hisses, grabbing Loki’s flailing wrists in quick succession. He struggles as best he can – part of the beauty (or the curse; it’s all in the context) of wrestling Thor is that Loki can go all out and still get nowhere – but it’s hopeless. His brother pins him decisively… and proceeds without hesitation to abuse the win by _ticking the living shit out of him_.

Loki can’t free himself (he couldn’t even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t), so he uses the time between gasps to scream instead. Thor eventually puts a stop to that as well, clapping a big hand over his noisy mouth. Which is just the sort of invitation Loki can’t refuse, and today is no different; he play-bites his brother and then licks, sloppily.

This time, Thor stops the nonsense with a hard, rough kiss. And another, and another, until it all runs together.

Neither of them makes any effort to stop anything this time.

They kiss frantically, Thor’s hands all over Loki’s face and Loki’s fingers digging into the dips and ridges of his brother’s muscled back. This - whatever it is -feels _real_ for a change, finally, like Thor actually wants to be here. Loki just can’t get enough of it. He eats up like he’s starving for it.

Maybe he has been.

He bucks up, thrusting against his brother’s groin, and is duly rewarded; Thor bites down on his lower lip almost sharply enough to draw blood. It’s beautiful. Incredible. He doesn’t even try to stifle his throaty moan.

The sound is not really meant as a hint – it’s not! – but his brother evidently takes it as one regardless.

Not, of course, that anyone’s complaining.

~

Thor quickly works his way down until he’s mostly resting on the bed between Loki’s legs. His fingers catch Loki’s waistband, tugging roughly.

Loki in turn shifts his hips, helping as best he can. He wants this so, so badly.

“Ah!” He jerks as Thor’s mouth slides – hot, slick, powerful – over the head of his dick and down. He can’t lie still; it doesn’t matter.

~

Ultimately, he doesn’t bother wasting any effort on trying to be polite. It’s not like he’s going to choke Thor regardless, not at this angle, and his brother’s hands have him stuck fast to the bed at the hips anyway.

It’s beyond heavenly. Thor gives it all he’s got, which is quite a bit; he’s holding Loki down and all the while licking and sucking like he was born for nothing better. When he drags his teeth up the skin of Loki’s shaft, it’s all but over.

~

Loki screams. His whole body is a spastic mess. He may scream again and again; he thinks he does, but can’t really be entirely certain. All he knows for sure is that by the time he shoots his load, pumping ineffectually into his brother’s mouth as Thor’s thumbs dig into his hipbones, he’s too hoarse to manage much of anything.

~

For a long, blissful stretch they lie quietly together, panting and sweating. When he can think clearly again, Loki hopes fervently – hopes against hope – that Thor _is okay with all of this._ If his brother launches into another utterly-misguided apology he will fucking-.

"Check," Thor mocks brightly, out of nowhere. He’s grinning ear to ear as he imitates Loki’s dismissive hand gesture perfectly.

_Oh fuck oh jesus oh thank god._ Loki can’t help but burst out laughing. "Asshole," he rasps, struggling to reach for Thor’s wrist.

Thor grins impossible wider. "Maybe next time,” he teases, shifting easily out of reach. “Let me check my _list._ "

He’s still laughing after Loki wrenches a hand free and slaps him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A really bad day at day treatment is... really bad.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning:** Graphic description of an overdose (not Loki)

"No, I haven't really tried the pottery wheel yet," Loki tells the teacher, the one who leads twice-weekly paper-making classes at the center, as the two of them make their lazy, meandering way down the long corridor, "but I do want to." He smiles. "They've told me I can, too, as long as I don't take time away from the paying students."

Which, of course, is more than a little ironic; in any other life, and perhaps even in this one, Loki could _be_ a paying student.

"Oh, You should," she tells him, beaming. "I bet you'll love it. And you'll be good at it, too. Of course," she goes on, laughing, "I'm more than happy to have you in my paper cl-..."

"Oh _FUCK_ ," someone behind them screams. There's a loud crash just as Loki's turning to look. "Get one of the nurses!!"

The hallway explodes in a flurry of activity; people running in all directions, lots of yelling, everyone talking at once and nobody listening. Without consciously choosing, Loki lets the flow of traffic separate him from the friendly art teacher. The human riptide carries him back past the activity rooms, beyond occupational therapy, to Ground Zero where a ring of people is rapidly collecting outside the restrooms.

Clients and staff, all jammed in together. Loki stops when he can go no further, not making any real effort to push his way through. Then again, he’s tall; he doesn't need to.

He can see over most everyone, right down into the center of the circle, where one of the few guys he knows from his residential treatment program - a nice kid, barely into college when everything went in the shitter - is sprawled on the floor. 

The kid’s phone is a few feet away, still within the human circle. Maybe it flew out of his hand when he fell (collapsed, more like it); maybe someone kicked it free of the action. However he might have originally landed, they’ve got him mostly face-down now. He's seizing violently, arms and legs rigid and vomit spraying out between his clenched teeth.

One of the staff nurses is doing her best to protect the kid’s head, to keep him from smacking face-first into the floor.

It’s undeniably a nice gesture, but Loki has seen this all before and from where he's standing things are not looking good.

Not good at all.

The kid's face is an ugly purple-grey. There's a spent syringe - the Narcan, its peachy-pink box torn all down one side - lying on the scuffed vinyl, one of the guards covering the needle resolutely with a big, polished boot.

People are still talking. Some are shouting, even, over the general uproar. A phrase stands out here and there - _-ambulance coming from the hospital-, -busy afternoon, going to take-, -not a thing and that's the full dose-, -come on come on-, -we're losing him!_ \- but to Loki most of it is just static. Meaningless background noise. He tunes it out, because he can’t tune it in.

The world spins on in slow motion. Loki watches as the kid stops seizing - and not, absolutely not, because things are improving - to lie limp and crumpled on the floor. The nurses roll him gently to one side, digging puke out of his now-slack mouth with nothing but their bare hands and a ratty towel.

Loki watches as the usual array of equipment starts appearing, passed through the ring of people by the shaky hands of frantic staffers: a hooked plastic thing – kind of a white _J_ \- that one of the nurses shoves into the kid's mouth, wrestling gamely with his head as another nurse clings white-knuckled to his his tongue and slimy jaw; the automatic defibrillator from up by the guard’s desk, still in its red fabric pouch; a battered, hissing green tank, stenciled _CAUTION OXYGEN IN USE NO SMOKING_ in worn white block letters, dangling a mask attached to a football-shaped plastic ball from a long section of clear tubing.

As the guard scoots his foot - still firmly planted on the syringe - out of the way to make room for everyone, Loki is still watching.

The nurses roll the kid, grey and lifeless now… nothing more than so much dead weight… flat onto his back. They try to rip his shirt open, but the fabric doesn’t cooperate and won’t give way. After a couple of impotent tugs they end up just shoving it up to his collarbones instead.

Loki watches as they start CPR, one kneeling to the side and digging stacked hands into the kid’s scrawny, waxy-pale chest and the other wrestling valiantly with the football-shaped bag. With every compression, a thin trickle of puke bubbles out from under its mask and trails down to join with the spreading puddle on the floor.

He’s still watching when the ambulance people, armed with a stretcher’s worth of additional gear and a whole lot of _presence_ , push their way through the gathered crowd and quickly take over.

"I need everyone but you, you, and you,” the one evidently in charge - a short, solidly-built guy sporting navy coveralls, a shaved head, and a blue stethoscope slung around his neck – orders, pointing first to the nurses and then to the security guard, “out of this hall.”

“Come with me, please.” Loki doesn't bother to struggle when someone takes him by the arm.

It’s just one of the nice women from billing office anyway.

It’s not about his bill.

~

“No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine. My car is outside,” Loki assures the frazzled social worker, gesturing with his head at the black sedan waiting out front, “and my brother will be home by now.” He’s held it together – as far as anyone can see, at least, because he’s _good_ at this – for two interminable hours now. He needs to get the fuck out of here before- before something starts to give.

If he can just get home, he’ll be fine.

~

He does, shaking a little in the backseat of the car, but he isn’t.

He isn’t fine at all.

Thor isn’t there.

All Loki can see – on the backside of his own eyelids, in the empty air before him - is the kid’s grey-purple, vomit-streaked face, eyes glazed and lifeless.

The needle.

The face, the needle.

Face. Needle. Face needle.

Loki flops face-down on the sofa and screams into one of the stupid little decorative pillows.

It doesn’t help.

He throws the spitty pillow across the room, which doesn’t help either, and leaps up to start feverishly pacing.

_What to do what to do what to do._

At some level – okay, sure, it’s pretty much right on goddamned top level - Loki knows he should call his case manager. But if he does that, he’s going to have to go back to the center or, worse still, to the emergency room. Given the state he’s in right now, in fact, he could end up admitted for psychiatric observation and there is no way – no fucking way – he is letting that happen.

The face, the needle. He screams, hands plastered to his own face.

When had he started crying?

_Fuck fuck fuck fucking hell_. God-fucking- _damnit_. He can’t _do_ this. He isn’t strong enough. He can’t. He isn’t-.

From across the room, where he’d dropped it on the kitchen island, his phone buzzes.

_l8 from ct, cu soon_.

Loki cradles the phone in shaking hands. _pls hurry_ , he sends back, because Thor really, really needs to.

A few seconds later, the thing rings. “Mm?” Loki can’t find a way to answer properly. 

_Loki, baby,_ he can hear his brother yell. _Jesus I dropped my fucking phone sorry are you okay_ , Thor hollers, all in a rush.

"Yes and no," Loki says, a little dazed, looking down at the phone still resting in his palms. "Are you almost home?"

_Just crossing Main_ , Thor shouts. It sounds like he’s in a giant tin can. _Fifteen minutes. Do I need to call someone for you?_

The phone goes dead before Loki can finish his answer.

When it doesn’t ring again, he goes back to pacing. Back to trying desperately to hold on.

~

The door flies open to bounce hard against the stop. "LOKI,” Thor screams, pretty much right in his face. His brother pulls up short, clutching his own chest, and just stands there. For- for forever, until the last stars burn out, Loki paces and Thor sucks wind and neither one of them says a single fucking thing.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Thor offers, finally. "Is everything- is there anything I can do?"

"I don't know," Loki rasps. He can’t process anything right now. He can’t even walk and talk; he stops, swaying. It’s that or fall. "I just don't know."

"Can I- may I touch you," Thor asks him.

"Mm-hm," Loki says as – without thinking - he flings himself onto his brother.

Thor is an anchor, heavy and solid. Loki clings to him for dear life… unable to speak. Unable to stop sobbing. Barely able to breathe, even.

For the longest time his brother cuddles him close and just _lets him bawl_. It really isn’t until he’s pretty much run clean out of tears that Thor asks “can you tell me what happened?”

Loki tries. He tries really hard, because he owes his lifesaving anchor of a brother that much. Owes him everything. “One of the guys in day treatment – he came out of my residential program; he was doing really well,” he explains, voice wet and clogged, “snuck something in today and OD’d. Right in the fucking day center,” he spits. He can still see it; the face, the needle. He shivers. “The whole shitshow, seizures and puking and everything.”

“Oh, baby,” Thor whispers, rubbing his back gently.

“And then he fucking died,” Loki goes on. “Right there in the hallway, in front of everyone. The staff did CPR, for what seemed like forever, but it was all over. They couldn’t get him back. And you know what,” he confesses, letting his head smack against Thor’s solid chest. “All I can think about now is how badly I want to use. How fucked-up is that, I ask you?” He chokes out another gut-wrenching sob.

And then cringes, because Thor is going to fucking hate him. He’s not allowed to talk this way. Ever.

“I love you,” though, is what his brother actually tells him. That, and “I’m here.” 

~

Loki clings to Thor with every last shred of strength.

Even when he can’t hold himself up any longer, his brother doesn’t let him fall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is as draining as the aftermath.

After a while – it could be several minutes… maybe more, even… he isn't sure – spent hanging there suspended in his brother’s arms, marinating in Thor's warm scent and his own bitter tears, Loki drifts off into what amounts to a trance. He doesn't think. Most of all he doesn't _feel_. He just breathes, listening mesmerized to the wet gurgling air makes as it works its way past his clogged nose and swollen throat.

In and out, in and out.

Over and over.

And over.

"Look, I need to set you down, okay?" Thor's voice startles him out of his sleepy daze; startles him badly, really, but Loki has nothing left in him for jumping. Or squawking. "I won't let you go, honest," his brother assures him, big hands still holding tight despite how the muscles in both arms have started to twitch and quiver.

Stepping down turns out to be a lot more complicated than it normally is. Loki's brain is all foggy and slow, and simply figuring out the basics of unraveling and standing amounts to a near-Herculean effort. When he finally gets it approximately together and stands, wobbly despite Thor's support, Loki all but falls.

His brother rubs his back gently. It's more like petting, really; long, slow, smooth strokes, rhythmic and comforting. On a good day, he would purr.

It's not a good day.

He startles again, not markedly more productively than the first time, when his cell phone rings.

Phone. Ringing. Huh.

It's still going, beeping and buzzing and in his pocket. He has no memory whatsoever of how it got there.

Stupid phone. It's annoying. He wishes it would stop. It doesn’t.

Instead Thor shifts him to one side and rebalances. Loki goes mostly limp against his brother's other shoulder, not resisting as Thor digs into his pocket to grab the noisy goddamned thing. "JT," Thor reads. "Should you take this one?"

_Oh, probably._ He doesn't want to, but he wants a mobile crisis team standing outside the apartment door a whole lot less. He nods, smearing tears and snot on his brother’s neck. Even just nodding takes more energy, more focus, than he can afford to spare.

"Just a second," Thor tells JT – Loki’s sponsor cum babysitter, tasked with keeping him clean whenever keeping clean starts to become an awful struggle - and then jams the phone awkwardly against his hair.

"This is Loki," Loki mutters.

_Hey, man,_ JT says softly. His voice is low and scratchy. Loki isn't the only one who's had a shit day. _Do you need me to stop over? It's fine if you do,_ JT goes on, sounding like he actually is fine about having to do it. That's- surprising. Nice, sure, but surprising. They haven’t spent very long together, and Loki hasn’t exactly made himself easy to like. _I know this must be really tough on you,_ JT tells him, and that pretty much lays it all out there.

"Yeah,” Loki agrees. It is tough. Really, really tough. “No, I think I will be okay," he clarifies, though. It undoubtedly says something that people even care, but he just wants to be left alone (alone with his brother) tonight. "Thor is with me now. He’ll keep an eye on me," he promises, huffing out a soggy little “urf” as Thor one-handedly squishes him a little too enthusiastically.

_Okay,_ JT says, resigned. _If anything changes, though, you call me. I’m here for you._ He clears his throat. _I can stop by tomorrow if you aren’t-.”_

"No, I will,” Loki cuts in. He’s so wiped out. He just wants this conversation to hurry up and get itself over with; wants to go back to zoning out and not thinking before things get ugly. “I'll be there tomorrow,” he assures his sponsor, “just like always. It's not like I've never seen a dead person before." He snorts. It isn’t; fuck, he’s pretty much been one. But then it gets to him anyway. "I just- it was just shocking, you know? He seemed fine." His voice breaks a little. If he keeps going, he’s going to betray his own shitty mental state.

The poor kid died and Loki doesn’t even know his fucking name.

Sure enough. _Sh-sh,_ JT soothes. _You’ll get through this. We all will. But still, call me if you need to. Whenever. Seriously. I mean it._

Loki wriggles, burying his face in Thor’s wet, sticky hair. "I promise,” he says. He sounds muffled and strange, like he’s talking into his pillow. “I'll call if I need anything. My brother will hold me to it." He knows Thor will, too. "Thanks for checking on me, man," he adds.

_That’s what I’m here for,_ JT reminds him and ends the call.

"Done,” Thor asks after a few seconds of blissful silence. Loki nods; his brother stuffs the phone back in its original pocket and then resumes that slow, calming rubbing. "Is this okay," Thor even thinks to ask, which is- nice.

It is. "Mm," Loki says. He nestles against his brother’s front, eyes closed and brain idling out again. It’s exactly what he needs right now. Well, besides a new life, one without this day in it.

Hopefully Thor understands.

~

Eventually Loki decides Thor might understand more and better if he did a little basic explaining. "That was my sponsor," he tells his brother. "Well, we call them _coaches_ , but that's pretty much what it boils down to." It’s a stupid name; it’s not like the whole prettification is fooling anyone. "He wanted to make sure I was okay." Something in the back of his head reminds him he should brace up; Thor can be weird about things like this. Unfortunately, Loki just doesn’t have the mental energy.

"That was good of him,” is all Thor says, though, and it turns out to be just that easy. Well, almost that easy: " _Are_ you okay," his brother asks eventually, still holding him close.

Thinking is so hard. Even so, _not so much_ is probably not the brightest choice. Loki settles for "yes and no, I suppose," instead. He sniffs hard, suddenly really fed up with being waterlogged. "I- I feel like the edge is off it now... like I'm past the point where I might have done something- something stupid. Something regrettable." That’s truthful enough. Of course, it’s not like he could pull himself together enough to do anything anyway, but he does feel like he’s safely dodged the worst of it now.

"I'm so proud of you," Thor says. His mouth drags against Loki’s neck, stubble scraping a little, and Loki shivers. "This is a big thing and- and look at you!"

That’s downright idiotic. His brother is idiotic. "It's probably smarter not to, right this second," Loki quips, not sure if he’s joking or bashing himself. Both, maybe. "I’ve been bawling for hours; by now I've got to be pretty fucking revolting."

"Never," Thor insists, wrapping Loki in a giant wiggly-puppy hug.

~

"Do you want to sit down," his brother suggests, eventually. It’s a good suggestion, actually. Loki pushes back a half step.

"Can you get my pills for me," he starts, just as the room starts to spin. Ugh. "Whoa, dizzy." He reaches clumsily for his brother.

Thor picks him up efficiently but nicely, like he’s a fairy princess, and arranges his exhausted body on the sofa. "You really need to drink some water or something,” his brother admonishes. It’s another good suggestion, most likely, but Loki’s brain suddenly isn’t working properly again. He can barely even scrape together a lame-ass shrug. Water doesn’t sound very good, either, even when he knows he needs it. “Ginger ale, maybe," Thor the mind-reader prompts instead. That sounds better.

"Ginger ale,” Loki agrees.

"And food," Thor tries. Ugh, no; Loki shakes his head, a little too quickly, and has to grab the sofa back to keep from falling. Whoa. He curls up, face against the cushions, and lets the bone-deep exhaustion pull him down.

~

When Thor’s phone rings, singing out cheerfully as he putters around in the kitchen, Loki doesn’t even bother jumping.

“Thor," his brother answers, knocking something over on the counter as he’s talking. "You heard," he adds, voice a little pinched. "It’s okay. Honest. Don't worry... Loki's here with me."

Loki should probably know – or care, at least - what this is about but it’s all he can do to stay minimally conscious. His system has completely overloaded.

"No, it's okay. I get it,” Thor goes on. He sounds almost like it’s his turn to cry. "Do you want me to see if he'll talk to you?"

_No_. Whoever it is, Loki won’t. He can’t. Not tonight.

It turns out not to matter anyway, because Thor eventually hangs up without asking him to.

~

"Sigyn called to see if you were- were okay," his brother tells him. She asked if he was dead, then. Loki tries to look at Thor. Tries to nod. "She says hi," his brother continues, walking – softly, carefully - over to stand in front of the sofa. "Can I join you, baby?"

"Please," Loki rasps. His voice is as shot as he is. Which is to say completely. He lets Thor pick him up and move him, until he’s lying on his brother instead of the sofa. It’s warm and familiar and as good as anything can get just now. Loki chokes down an entire can of ginger ale by way of thanks.

_The whole gesture would probably have gone over better_ , he can’t help but think, _if I hadn’t dropped the can._

~

"Do you want to talk about it," Thor asks him. “To talk about what happened, I mean?" He doesn’t, but he’s too far gone to say so. His brother doesn’t push, though; just kisses him gently, at the corner of one eyebrow. "I'm here," Thor assures him, "if you decide you do.”

Loki decides he doesn’t. He nestles into Thor’s solid torso, not protesting as his brother gently finger-combs his tangled hair. He yawns. Really, all he wants to do now is slee-…


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not particularly pleasant when the tried and true lets you down.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **WARNING:** Self-injury. Nothing awful, but it does mostly happen on screen.

"Fuck off." Loki shuffles forward, for the fourth or fifth time now, dragging the tangled sheets along in a vain attempt to escape Thor's smothering personal space encroachment. He’s run out of bed real estate; one more good hitch and he's going to be on the floor. "I'm serious," he grumbles when his hot, heavy brother crowds forward and tries to snuggle yet again. "I'm exhausted. Not to mention broiling."

"You've been sleeping for ten hours," Thor complains. "How can you possibly still be tired?"

That his brother still sounds worn out himself is apparently of no account. Not to Thor, anyway.

"It's been a shitty week," Loki points out, which really shouldn't be necessary. He can feel his temper fraying a little (more). "What business is it of yours to start with," he asks testily. "Wait, don’t even bother answering that. Just leave me alone and it you won’t have to concern yourself further." Loki sighs, loudly.

"What the fuck is your problem," Thor snaps, and suddenly Loki's not the only one who has an attitude going.

" _YOU!!_ ," Loki roars. It may be fair, it may not; just this second he isn’t nearly interested enough in caring. He scoots forward yet again, truly angry now, but Thor snakes an arm around his waist before he can drop - dramatically and noisily, yes, because there’s no point in doing things halfway - to his hands and knees into the gap between bed and wall.

"Oh no you don't," Thor threatens, tugging hard. "You get back here."

"I swear," Loki warns his brother, "if you don't get your hands off me right this instant, I _will_ hurt you." He tries with all his might to pry free, nails digging into Thor’s straining arm. It isn’t happening.

“Lose the attitude, Loki,” his brother orders, dragging Loki kicking and flailing back into the center of the bed. That’s bad enough, but: “Since when do you have such a problem with being cuddled anyway, Mr. _I Used To Be A Hooker_ ,” Thor asks him nastily.

Loki has really fucking had it with this particular conversation. He can feel his frustration starting to boil over, to the point where he’s dangerously close to crying. “At least in those days,” he snarls, “when someone was pawing all over me I got paid.”

“Oh, you liked it better back then, did you,” Thor asks loudly, his arm still tight around Loki’s waist. “Back in the _good old days?_ Keep it up,” he threatens, “and you might just find yourself there again. Is that what you want, you little slut?” He tugs again. “Is it?”

And that tips the applecart clean over. “Huh,” Loki says, quieter now, clear and sharp and icy cold. “I missed the part where I was sleeping with _Odin_ , somehow.”

It works – Thor yanks the offending arm free, sending the bedclothes flying and flipping Loki gracelessly onto his back like a giant beetle or a scrawny turtle – except for how it doesn’t. His brother swings his feet over the far side of the bed and stomps out, pausing only briefly to scoop a t-shirt and boxers up off the floor.

The door slams closed so hard the pictures on the walls rattle.

~

A good solid half hour later, Loki still can’t calm himself down. His heart hasn’t stopped pounding. He keeps running through their stupid argument in his head, over and over, unable to let it go and unable to fix it. He still feels wronged, regardless of whether or not he did his share of wronging. And all he wants to do, regardless, is cry and scream and throw things. To _break_ things. To watch the world burn.

~

It’s not long before righteousness gives way to guilt and guilt to self-loathing. If he was a better person, a better brother, he wouldn’t act like such a fucking asshole to start with. Thor was just being nice, and all Loki knows how to do in return is be hopelessly prickly. _It’s no wonder no one can stand you for long,_ he tells himself, disgusted. _You’re lucky you’re even still alive._

Except he doesn’t feel lucky.

And he doesn’t feel alive.

When it comes right down to it, he feels like _cutting_.

~

Once the idea surfaces, of course, it worms its way in and Loki can’t let it go. He tries telling himself no. He tries telling himself he should call someone from day treatment; his therapist, or the doctor covering emergencies. He tries telling himself his brother is just out in the other room and could reappear at any second.

That’s where logic does him in, actually. The biggest thing he and Thor have in common, Loki knows from long and painful experience, is a breathtakingly stubborn inability to back down. Thor won’t be coming back in here in the absence of a formal surrender, not until Loki has missed a couple of meals. Maybe not even until the alarm goes off Monday morning. Of this, Loki is all too certain.

It’s not even a blame thing; if it was him sitting out in the living room, Loki’s sure, he would (not) be doing exactly the same thing.

_No one has to know_ , the little voice in his head that _isn’t_ his conscience promises him. _This is just for you._

~

There isn’t a knife anywhere to be found, he realizes, let alone a razor blade. Not without making way too much noise, at the very minimum, or marching out into the kitchen. What there IS, though, is a disposable razor buried – resting alongside a half-used mini-tube of toothpaste, a really smelly bar of soap, and a wrapped condom - in the dark depths of Thor’s travel kit, which is itself conveniently stashed in the top drawer of the big maple dresser.

And, speaking of convenient, the drawer in question is pretty much the only one in the whole apartment that moves without squealing like some enormous dying rodent.

~

It’s easier to dismember a disposable razor with the help of a heat source – a candle, a lighter – but where there’s a will there’s a way.

Loki is extra-careful not to cut himself accidentally, which is ironic if you look at it correctly.

~

All four blades – never let it be said Thor scrimps when it comes to the little things – are nice and sharp, probably never even used.

They make good, clean cuts.

Runes, like he’s a dwarf, mythologically speaking.

Or a troll.

Here’s a little toast to all the haters who said those two semesters of college were completely wasted.

~

It’s nice art. It bleeds prettily and will scar. It soaks the majority of a ratty old t-shirt before he can get the blood to stop welling up and running everywhere.

But the process of doing it doesn’t- it doesn’t fucking _work_ anymore.

It hurts, sure, like a motherfucker. But he doesn’t get the high. He doesn’t even get the low. The whole (non-)event is clinical, almost boring once you get past the pain, and when he’s done he feels only vaguely dirty. There’s a little guilt, sure, but not any more than he’d dealt with earlier… at the end of their _fun chat_ , when he’d compared Thor to Odin.

This was a lot more work.

It isn’t even worth it. Which is disappointing, and depressing, and surprisingly sad.

~

There is a box of individually-wrapped sterile gauze pads in the _sex toy box_ , for one reason or another. Loki tears opens a few, with fingers and teeth, and presses them hard against the damaged tissue.

His arm hurts differently, now, with a dull, throbbing burn that isn’t at all pleasing.

Loki tapes the mess sloppily – better living through office supplies – and, after making sure he’s stashed all the evidence safely under the bed for later disposal (sometime when Thor isn’t around to put his fucking annoying nose in everything), flops unhappily back down on the bed.

He’s sad now, really sad. Sad and lonely. Being stuck in here alone isn’t good enough anymore.

He makes himself lie quietly for few more minutes anyway, just to see if he feels better. Or worse. He doesn’t, and doesn’t. In the end, when nothing whatsoever changes, he sits up – which is decidedly not as easy with his stupid _engraved _arm hurting like _whoa_ – and slides back out of bed.__

__He needs company._ _

__He needs his brother, like it or not._ _

__~_ _

__They aren’t going to talk about what has transpired. Thor is constitutionally incapable of _getting it_ that this was nothing, that it was an experiment, one which failed miserably. No, Loki needs to keep the whole mini-shitshow to himself._ _

__He roots one-handed through the hamper, trying to keep his other arm up, and hauls out a very rumpled black long-sleeved t-shirt. He sniff-tests it and then shrugs the thing on; it’s easily loose enough to skim over the gauze. Win._ _

__That and a pair of sweats - and a quick check in the mirror to make sure he’s not sporting a big blood smear across one cheek or something equally damning - and Loki is ready to face the world._ _

__Mostly._ _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Thor's going to play his same old game, Loki's going to play his as well.
> 
> Fortunately, this time, he's a lover and not a fighter.

"Hey" Loki says quietly as he pokes his head into the living room, trying to gauge whether or not they're back to _okay_ yet. It's been a few hours and the dust should have settled, but he isn't committing until he's sure. Sometimes dust like theirs settles extraordinarily slowly, and he’s not really in the mood for another shouting match right now. He’s down and jittery and he wants to snuggle.

Which is unfortunate timing, probably, considering it was _snuggling_ that’d had him ripping into Thor in the first place.

Not that his brother hadn’t done an impressive job of dishing it right back.

Still, it is what it is. Loki wants to be cuddled, and that’s not exactly something he can take care of on his own. He shifts his weight onto one leg, stopping just past the doorframe. It’s a small movement; even so, it makes the floor creak.

Thor looks up, blinking a little, from where he's been studying something on his phone. For a few beats he looks nearly pleased to see Loki, which seems like it’s probably a good sign.

It’s enough, at any rate, to lure Loki the rest of the way out into the room proper.

As soon as they make solid eye contact, though, Thor's pleasure dissolves into shocked concern. “What did you just do," he ask, frightened, and everything about his expression says he _knows_.

Shit. Loki wonders a little frantically if he missed some blood somewhere; his face, maybe, or his hands. Then again, for all his blind spots Thor has always had an eerie sixth sense when it comes to this sort of crap; maybe it’s merely a case of not quite looking _sufficiently normal_. Whatever it is, Loki smells trouble.

Even so, smoothing things over is always worth a try. He lets his brows pinch together, his forehead wrinkle. He’s not going for concerned, exactly; just _a wee bit confused_ might do it. “I don’t know what you mean, brother,” he says politely. Innocently, the way someone who'd just climbed out of bed after a pleasant little nap might act.

It doesn't work, not in the slightest. The longer Loki stands there trying to save face (or cover ass), the more Thor looks as though someone just sucker-punched him right in the gut - mouth an _O_ , eyes pained and panicky. In theory this sounds better than _still angry;_ in practice, it isn’t, because – by contrast to rage - this sort of situation is completely unpredictable.

The way Thor eventually closes his mouth - like it's an enormous effort - doesn't bode well, either. “Loki,” he says heavily, and it might just as well be _mom_ here in their living room now, “I’m not upset with you." That's fair; he doesn't look it. Not anymore. Not the way he typically uses the term _upset_ , at least. But he also isn’t done. "Something is obviously going on, though" he continues, voice tired and even a little wobbly, "and I need you to tell me what it is.”

Loki shrugs. He's still feeling out how to play this. He doesn’t want to fight, and he doesn’t want Thor to freak, and he especially doesn’t want to go back into the bedroom and lie there alone any longer.

“Do that again,” Thor suggests, and Loki – a little bit lost in his own thoughts and consequently _just_ too slow recognizing the trick; the day's events, the _week's_ events, have left him so fucking _off_ – does. His brother's eyes narrow ominously. It’s over. He’s blown.

“Did you hurt your arm,” Thor asks delicately, gamely dancing around the real question.

Loki searches in vain for any answer that might salvage things. Yeah, not happening. “It’s nothing," he says, conceding defeat. Defeat, yes, but it’s accompanied by a faint hint of daring. Maybe this is good. The two of them have learned how to do _crisis mode_ now, after all, a lot better than they handle _angsty with a side of pissed._

“Bring it over, then,” Thor demands, precisely as expected; he’s nothing if not predictable, always quick to call Loki's bluff, “and let me have a look at it.”

Ah, yes. Loki knows how this goes. It’s an old, familiar game. "Really, it’s fine,” he assures his brother, politely evasive, taking a half step back towards the hall. It’s a dance, and an old one: Thor pushes, Loki retreats. Just like always. Always when he’s not trying to pick a fight, anyway.

Unlike some of his earlier attempts this one works, too. _Just like always._

~

“Look,” his brother tells him, looking more ill and less frustrated, “you’re not fooling me.” _Which, of course, is only partly true, but who’s telling?_ “I’m not judging,” Thor goes on, even though he doubtless is, “and I won’t yell. Please, just let me make sure you are okay.”

“You yelled earlier,” Loki pokes. He’s getting enough distance from it all to feel comfortable rubbing his brother’s nose in things.

Thor sighs unhappily; apparently _he_ hasn’t yet gotten sufficient distance. “Yes, and you swore at me and said I was like dad,” he points out. “But I give you my word: I’m not going to yell now. I honestly just want to be sure you are okay. Nothing else,” he promises. Which is nice. And relatively unusual. And decidedly moving in the right direction.

~

“Please, baby,” Thor begs, nicely, patting the sofa cushion next to his. “Come sit here with me.”

Of course he will – it’s the whole reason he’s _out here at all_ \- but Loki needs to keep up the appropriate pretenses: Skittish. Feelings hurt. He side-eyes the sofa, determinedly not moving.

“Please,” his brother implores, all sad puppy dog eyes. Perfect.

Loki pads past Thor and sits teetering at the very, very far edge of the sofa. “Okay,” he tells his brother with a big, dramatic _here comes my confession_ sigh, “you win.”

Thor looks crushed, which is a bit more than Loki intended. He dials his act back a little; makes the whole business more about himself again. “I know what you’re thinking,” he tells his brother, “and you’re right, okay? I cut myself earlier. I knew I shouldn’t, and I knew-,” he offers, looking away; he can’t quite handle the look on Thor’s face just now, “I knew you would be disappointed, but I did it anyway. So there,” he finishes, making himself stare Thor full in the face, because he’s Loki; he never _was_ quite able to put a stop to the _stubborn_. 

~

He’s abruptly _tired_ again; tired of this game, tired of dancing, tired of not getting the hugs he came out here for. He just wants this to be _over_. He wants the whole craptastic day to be over.

Thor, though, evidently isn’t quite ready move on with the evening. “How bad is it,” he asks softly.

_Not like you’re thinking, brother._ Loki smiles, wry. “It would probably need stitches if we were normal people,” he admits. “But we’re not, so it’s fine.” It’s not quite fine – it _hurts_ , and he’d really like to get it up in the air – but it’s nothing worth fretting over.

“What happened,” Thor asks.

It’s a weird question, and Loki opts to dodge it. “It throbs a little if I leave it hanging down, though,” he goes on, like his brother hadn’t even spoken. A little shuffling and the offending – okay, offend _ed_ \- arm is finally up on the back of the sofa. _Ahhh._

Thor just sits there watching him.

_Jesus fuck. Hold me already._

“Okay, okay,” Loki complains, trying to hurry things along. The more wiped out he gets, the bigger the risk this will all go sideways. Again. “I- I don’t really know what got into me,” he tells his brother. “I was upset about before, and about this whole shitty week, and it just felt like the right thing to do.” He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “And then I did it, and it felt wrong instead of good… and that made me sad.” Which he genuinely is, again, right here; without meaning to, he’s crying. Not just for show, either. “Before you beat yourself up,” he reassures a suddenly-too-panicky-looking Thor, “you didn’t leave anything dangerous around. I dismembered a disposable safety razor.”

“I guess we’re switching to electric,” his brother tries to joke.

“Not necessary,” Loki says. “Whatever it used to do for me, it doesn’t do anymore.” No more games; he’s legit crying. And feeling rotten. Lost. Like he’s sinking. “Is it weird that knowing that makes me sad?”

“No, baby,” Thor assures him. “It’s not weird.” He carefully touches Loki’s left hand, where it’s resting atop the sofa. “Now, can I see it?”

Loki laughs, despite how he’s still crying. He’s one endless fucking mood swing today. A mood pendulum. “You’re just not going to drop it, are you,” he teases his brother. “You’re going to hound me about it until I give in. Fine,” he snaps when Thor doesn’t laugh with him. He rips off some of the tape and flips the gauze back. “Here. Look. See.”

~

For a long time, uncomfortably long, Thor just stares. “What does it mean,” he asks, finally. His voice sounds very small.

“It’s our names,” Loki tells him, “in runes. It pretty much says what these scars say.” He gestures with his wrist, showing off the _I (heart) Thor_. The runes more literally say _Loki and Thor joined in love_ , but that’s far more subtlety than he feels up to muddling through presently.

“So why do you get to be listed twice,” Thor asks, pouting.

“My rune is the same rune used for… for love, lust, passion,” Loki explains, smirking at his brother. “I guess I was meant to be this way.” Maybe he was. It would explain a lot. And it’s nicer than most of the more common explanations.

Thor returns his smile. “And what does mine mean?”

“Yours is the rune for action,” Loki tells his brother, wishing he might actually get some. “See?”

Finally, finally, Thor _does the thing_. “We should put some pressure on that,” he tells Loki, taking charge in a good way. “Sif will give us what-for if she finds out we just sat here and watched it bleeding.” Which, yes, it still is. “Give it here, please,” he requests, reaching for Loki’s arm. Not grabbing; just reaching. Thor has gotten pretty decent at _helping_.

~

Loki hitches forward, happily this time, and graciously lets his brother neaten up the makeshift bandage. Afterwards there’s some patting, and some careful stroking. It’s nice, really nice. He hums.

It’s nice enough, in fact, that Loki decides Thor deserves a reward. “Thank you for not yelling,” he offers, working his way nearer. When he’s as close as he can get, he gives his brother a happy kiss.

That works, too. He _finally_ gets himself cuddled.

_Much better._

It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it. Usually. But who’s telling?


End file.
